


The Final Contract

by mysticalglade



Series: I Am Yours [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, First Meetings, Happy Ending, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 08:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4214604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticalglade/pseuds/mysticalglade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zevran Arainai has been appointed with the task of assassinating the Grey Warden everyone has been talking about. Surviving this contract was the last thing Zevran wanted. Could this one chance meeting change his life forever?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Final Contract

**Author's Note:**

> Directly inspired by the first time the Warden meets Zevran in Dragon Age: Origins. Some (but not all) of the dialogue I use is the original dialogue used in-game.
> 
> The Warden I am pairing him with in this series is my own female Dalish rogue named Mi'harel, but this fic can apply to anyone who plays a female Dalish rogue. I just needed a character to base it on.
> 
> Warnings: minor suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt.

Zevran had never been afraid of death. He had quite happily watched the life fade from the eyes of hundreds, maybe even thousands, of victims felled by his blades. He had been raised to enjoy the slaughter.

But this was not the life he wanted. His life had been taken from him the moment he was sold to the House of Arainai. The warm, cobbled streets of Antiva should have felt like home to him, for that is what they were, but it was hard to look back longingly at such a place when memories of it were blighted by the cruelty and corruption of his masters. All he could feel was emptiness. Not sadness though – he was able to take pleasure in his work, to visit taverns and enjoy himself for a time, but none of this was truly fulfilling. It had become apparent to him over the years that he wasn’t really _living_ , he was merely filling the emptiness with sexual pleasure, biding his time with contracts, hoping that one day his reckless behaviour would finally put an end to it all.

And so this week, Zevran had accepted another ridiculously impossible contract: to kill the Grey Warden everyone in Ferelden had been talking about. If any contract was to be the death of him it would be this one, or so he had thought.

Zevran now leant patiently on a moss-covered rock, eyes locked on the horizon like a cat in waiting for its prey. He wondered what it was that made this Grey Warden such a luminary amongst the good people of Ferelden. He had heard a great deal about her escapades, and figured that someone who killed darkspawn for a living would have no trouble killing a brothel-raised elf. Zevran gripped the leather hilts of his knives; if he was going to die, he wanted a good fight first.

After a few minutes, his bait came scurrying back with a party of four rather perplexed looking people following cautiously behind. A young man clad in heavy steel plate furrowed his brow and murmured something incomprehensible in the pointed ear of a rather attractive elf. That, Zevran decided, must be his target. She was a lot smaller than he had expected. Perhaps this fight was not going to end the way he had hoped.

Before they had time to weave their way out of this trap, Zevran pushed himself up off the rock and made a discreet gesture to signal the attack. His fellow Crows pounced from all directions, surrounding the target and her allies. Some assassins fell before they could even come within fighting distance of the enemy, knocked to the ground by the powerful spells of a raven-haired mage. Zevran shook his head; why he had been sent on such a difficult mission with these amateurs was beyond him. Anyone would think the Crows _wanted_ him to fail this assignment. At last he decided it was time to enter the fray himself, but where was the Warden? If he hadn’t been watching the mage so intently perhaps he would have noticed her before she sliced at him from behind.

“So Loghain has resorted to assassins,” she said as Zevran spun around to face her. “Too scared to face me himself I guess.”

Zevran was taken aback by her stealth – he had always imagined Grey Wardens to be quintessential heavy armoured warriors. Practical in battle, trained to get the job done and to end the Blight. This was evidently not the case. Without mercy, he stabbed at her several times, but his blades were only met with hers. She was fast.

“Drop your weapons!” came a voice from behind them. It seemed the battle had been lost; all three of the Warden’s allies were stood behind him looking rather pleased with themselves. When Zevran paid no heed to their orders, that was when the Grey Warden issued the final blow.

*** * ***

It was not long before Zevran regained consciousness. He had only been out cold for five minutes, but his head was throbbing so much that he had to remain on the ground and close his eyes until the pain subsided.

“Wake up,” came the voice of the Grey Warden. She kicked his arm until he opened his eyes and wearily propped himself up on it. “Explain this now, or die,” she said. Her amber eyes were cold and stern, piercing into him as she awaited his response. Any fool could see that this woman was not the merciful type. Despite his acknowledgement of this, Zevran tried to act nonchalant, groaning and rubbing his eyes as if he was not fazed in the slightest by her threats.

“I rather thought I would wake up dead,” said Zevran eventually, “Or not wake up at all, as the case may be. But I see you haven’t killed me yet.”

“ _Yet_ ,” she reminded him. Zevran sighed and explained himself as truthfully as he could. This had gone on long enough. Not only had he failed his contract, but he had failed his contract _alive_. What could be worse?

“So… what are the Crows exactly?” asked the Warden, confused by a few of Zevran's details. 

“I’m surprised you haven’t heard much of the Crows out here,” said Zevran, his lips curling into a sly grin. “Back where I come from, we’re rather infamous.”

“Not for being good assassins, I see,” she sneered. This woman, although beautiful, was beginning to get on Zevran’s nerves. Not only had she outsmarted him in battle, she had spared his life, and for what purpose? 

“Oh, _fine_. Is that what you Fereldans do? Mock your prisoners? Such cruelty.”

The Grey Warden continued to hurl question after question at Zevran until she had learned almost each and every detail about his involvement with the Crows, and had agreed to herself that he was not in fact loyal to Loghain, who she evidently did not like one bit. Zevran found out that her name was Mi’harel. He knew this was an elvish name, but his Antivan upbringing rendered any elvish beyond his understanding. Unlike many of the orphaned children in Antiva, Zevran had always been quietly interested in his ancestry. If it wasn’t for the restrictive lifestyle imposed on him by House Arainai, perhaps he would have looked into it more. He knew that his mother had been Dalish, but that was unfortunately the extent of his knowledge. Zevran thought that perhaps this Mi’harel could tell him more about the culture of his ancestors... although from the way she still clasped her knives, it didn’t look like he was going to be engaging in such cordial conversation just yet.

“If I let you live, how do I know you won’t murder me in my sleep?” said Mi’harel, frowning at the sharp blades that were lying beside him in the grass.

“I happen to be a very loyal person!” Zevran protested. “I didn’t exactly have a choice joining the Crows. Nor do I particularly enjoy working for them. Especially not after recent circumstances… but that is a story for another day. My only way out, however, is to sign up with someone the Crows can’t touch.”

It was an idea that had occurred to him on the spot. Just a few mere moments earlier he had been ready for death, but now Zevran saw a glimmer of hope, an opportunity for a real life. A life away from the Crows. Perhaps Mi’harel could protect him, or at least mask his scent a little so that the Crows would have a harder time dragging him back to Antiva for whatever awful punishment they had in store for him.

“Alright. I accept your offer,” said Mi’harel, holding out a small bloodstained hand for him. Zevran grabbed at it willingly and she pulled him to his feet with an unnerving amount of strength for her petite elven build.

“What?! You’re taking an _assassin_ with us now?” said the young man beside her.

“Yes, Alistair,” said Mi’harel, rolling her eyes and striding onwards down the path. “Come on. Let’s just get out of here.”

**Author's Note:**

> All work in this series is under constant revision.
> 
> Stay tuned for Zevran smut in future works!


End file.
